how is it that the light at the corner of Pico and Lincoln that spills so generously over 
sidewalk blue metal chairs five lanes with their cross-stitch of traffic can be “discrete 
packets, discontinuous, distributed across space” how could a mind on a series of 
ordinary mornings forkfuls and mouthfuls and earfuls deconstruct the 
everywhereness of light into microscopic moving parts some of which only exist when 
they bump into each other how could he gaze at the golden abundance 
spilling over Ulm and Munich and Pavia and think no not a blanket not a swath but a 
gathering of particles that meander somewhat predictably through the bent universe 
to bump against us in leaps and bounces while in Germany the Jews begin to stitch 
yellow stars on their sleeves and next to me at the bus stop mostly Hispanic faces and 
the light streaming over everyone